


Grave Encounters

by Miah_Arthur



Series: Vesemir Gets Freaky [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Backstory, Consentacles, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Monsterfucker Vesemir, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex, Other, Porn With Plot, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Sweet/Hot, Tender Sex, Tentacle Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vesemir Has A Tragic Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27118141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/pseuds/Miah_Arthur
Summary: 'Too curious.' How many times had Vesemir heard that during his training? When it leads to the most intimate encounter he's ever had, he's not the least bit sorry, even if his partner could kill him in a heartbeat...although that’s probably why he wants her as a partner in the first place.
Relationships: Vesemir (The Witcher)/Monster
Series: Vesemir Gets Freaky [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979416
Comments: 23
Kudos: 52
Collections: Sordid Saovine - The Witcher Halloween Event





	Grave Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta: Hircine_Taoist. She is a wonderful beta, a wonderful writer, and is always willing to help no matter how odd the fic.

#  **Grave Encounters**

Vesemir cast _igni_ , setting the ghoul in front of him on fire. It howled and spun in circles, leaving him free to focus on the second one. He dodged its leap and whirled, his sword arcing in a deadly circle and taking the creature's head clean off its shoulders. He turned to face the one he'd _igni_ 'd. It sank to the ground with a final whine; it's face and shoulders burnt to a crisp. 

Vesemir waved the all-clear to the foreman, and the diggers returned to work. The battlefield was filled with bodies rapidly decaying, and decaying bodies attracted necrophages. Fires and mass pits for the bodies made it easier to keep the beasts back from the workers, but the situation demanded vigilance. This was his first large guard job, and he was determined to not lose a single one of his charges. It was sure to gain him a word of praise from Erland. The first witcher rarely had time for the younger ones like Vesemir. 

Hedrahim. Such an unassuming village. Such an unlikely place for an enormous battle. The Kaedweni forces had won over the Koviri forces, and thus Vattweir now expanded the borders of Kaedwen. All neat and clean for the rulers in their fortified cities with their treaties and battle plans, but bloody and disgusting work for those on the ground cleaning up the mess. The pay was good, though, and the work was progressing quickly. He'd found and destroyed several nests to cut their numbers down. All in all, this contract was smooth sailing, and he should leave with a full coin purse in a couple more weeks. 

The coin wasn't his alone; it belonged to all the Order. Morgraig required large sums of money to support the non-combatants. When he was a child, the elder witchers had argued and fought amongst themselves, both on the Path and at Morgraig, and little coin made it to the coffers. His cohort had been half-starved when they went through the Trial of Grasses, and he was the only one to survive. The boys in training deserved better. 

At the end of the day, Vesemir followed the burial crew into town, he'd pitched his tent with the diggers just inside the village walls. They'd been generous with sharing food and stories. It reminded him of the calmer winters at Morgraig. He stretched, ready to crawl into his bedroll, but the sound of feet pounding the earth put him on alert.

"Master witcher! Master witcher!" A young man skidded to a stop near Vesemir's fire. "The sentry saw a creature lurking around the pit!"

Vesemir sighed and downed a cat potion. He'd told them that pit was too close to the village for safety. He cinched his scabbards and stalked toward the newly dug pit, all his senses on high alert. It wasn't much more than a ditch yet, only knee-deep and shoulder wide. Raspy, heavy breathing and bipedal footsteps reached his ears. The sound didn't remind him of any a necrophage he knew. He allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction, hoping it was a good one. If he documented the most interesting new beast, he could finally win bragging rights for the winter, and Cedric could suck eggs. 

He crept to the edge of the bushes and looked out. It was bipedal, as he'd heard. The arms were long for the body and ended in massive claws. Roughly female in shape. Large pendulous breasts dangled from her chest. Long hair, face roughly humanoid. A ghoul trotted over the top of the mound of dirt. It yelped and fell to the ground, stiff as stone. The woman-creature slashed it with her claws, nearly decapitating the beast in one swift motion. 

Vesemir startled back. She was so fast! She turned to stare directly at him, and now _something_ —her tongue?—waved and whipped around her head. It must have been ten, twelve feet long. 

Vesemir stood up, casting _quen_ and gripping his sword tightly. The monstrous hag was fast, but he could take her. The tongue flicked out, faster than his eyes could follow, but he'd expected the attack and rolled out of the way. He closed with her rapidly. The end of the tongue must be what paralyzed the ghoul. If he got in close, he'd take out her primary weapon. 

She swiped at him with her claws, and he blocked the attack. They danced around each other, dodging blows, blocking attacks until his _quen_ failed. She pressed him with swipe after swipe of her claws, and he didn't have time to cast another. He was unprepared for the sharp rap against the back of his neck, for the instant loss of motor control, for meeting the ground so suddenly. 

He couldn't even brace for the blow that would surely cleave him in two any moment. Only his eyes remained under his control, but he faced the ground. His heart raced. The creature stood over him, drawing out the expectation until he wanted to shout for her to get it over with. 

"Not _human_. Not _elf_. What is it, Grauti assssssksssss."

The voice was rough but not unpleasant. Vesemir hadn't expected the beast to speak. Witchers were supposed to be the only intelligent mutants. What if this was the failed experiment of some other mage? 

She gripped his shoulder carefully and rolled him over. Up close, she was less human-like. Her teeth were oversized and protruding; her skin was the wrong tint. The Cat washed out color, but hers wasn't human. Her eyes were large. The scleras were black, and moonlight reflected at him. The intensity was oddly enticing, and he suspected it wouldn't be a color he'd seen in witchers or animals. Blue perhaps. Rough bumps—scales?—spread across her forehead. The tongue-thing stuck out the side of her mouth through a gap behind her teeth, allowing her to close her mouth around it.

Glancing down, he saw deceptively spindly legs, a rounded abdomen, and the large—very large—breasts. He expected to be hit by the reek of death. She was likely a type of necrophage after all, but she carried the scent of juniper and fresh earth. 

She observed him as keenly as he watched her. She prodded his chest with the back of a clawed finger and drew it down his body, lingering over his crotch. She made a huffing sound, laughter, Vesemir thought. The inspection continued, as she leaned over him, her breasts dragging over his chest. She sniffed his hair and then ran her tongue up the side of his face. Her breath smelled like the dust of an ancient crypt. Not rotting, fresh meat. Old, deeply earthy, a scent he found oddly comforting, and his heart slowed. 

He expected it to be slimy, for his eye on that side to become paralyzed as well, for her to take a bite out of him with those monstrous teeth, but she sat back, crouching over him. The position was a parody of sex. Fuck. Now that he'd thought it, he couldn't get the image from his mind. Her belly hung low, blocking his view of her genitalia. What _did_ she have down there? 

He was being thorough. 

For the bestiary. 

She spoke, breaking him from his dangerously circling thoughts. "Mutant. Mage-formed." She trailed a claw along the path her tongue had taken down his face. Gently. Carefully. Not even scratching him, but the danger of it! Being at her mercy was thrilling in ways he'd never expected. "Pretty mutant."

Vesemir's cock hardened. _Fuck_. No. He shouldn't be getting excited. What if she noticed?

"Grauti'ssss home. No more digging here. My home."

Vesemir's muscles began to loosen. He worked his jaw. "Where?"

The hag—Grauti—pointed to a dip in the terrain, not far past the edge of the pit. "Dig other placcccce."

Vesemir could respect that. She hadn't harmed him or any of the humans. She wanted to be left alone. "I'll make them dig somewhere else."

She stroked his face again. Her skin was surprisingly soft and smooth, like a sun-warmed snake. "Gooood." She flexed her knees and sprang away into the night. 

Vesemir lay there, staring at the sky as the paralytic wore off. _Grauti_. He hadn't asked her any of the questions bouncing around his mind. Was she a creature of the conjunction? Older? A magical experiment? _Were her breasts as soft as her hands?_

He rolled himself to sitting when his movement returned. He shouldn't be thinking like that. It had been too long since his last partner. Not a lot of choices in this small village if he wanted to stay out of trouble. No villagers, maybe, but he'd caught the burial crew foreman eying him when he thought no one was looking. 

They buried the remaining bodies on the far side of the battlefield from the hollow Grauti indicated as her home. The night after the diggers moved away, Vesemir had patrolled expecting to find a new pocket of ghouls. What he found was a string of ghouls sliced by massive claws. Vesemir started something with the foreman. The man might be old, but Melitele was he good in bed! They fucked every night for two weeks as the work continued. The itch was thoroughly scratched, yet he couldn't get the idea of Grauti out of his mind. 

Vesemir collected his payment from the foreman and watched the crew troop away back to Ard Carraigh. He'd head toward Morgraig soon, purchasing what supplies he could along the way. He'd still been a boy when the battle amongst witchers happened, not quite old enough to walk the Path. Ever since Arnagherd's betrayal, the need to support one another had been drilled into their heads, and believing in that was what Vesemir held onto when his reception in villages wasn't warm, when he was injured, when he'd rather spend all his coin on comforts.

He shuddered. Ten years on the Path now and nothing he'd seen disturbed him like fighting his brothers had. He climbed to the top of a broken siege engine and lay back, looking at the clouds, pushing aside the morbid thoughts, emptying his mind—the discipline of _nothing_. 

His mind refused to settle. He should be moving on to the next place, the next contract, but the jolt of terror he'd felt paralyzed and at the mercy of the hag, followed by relief and confusion when she hadn't harmed him, stirred his imagination. Grauti hadn't hurt him. She'd communicated. He'd be bothered by this all winter if he didn't try to talk to her again.

It was worth the risk. 

He should bring something to offer her if he was going to approach her home. A gift for peace. He thought of her careful movements and the way she'd said, 'Pretty mutant.' He didn't think she had plans to rip him apart. 

_Unless it offends her, and she rips you to shreds._

She'd smelled of juniper and the earth instead of rot and filth. He had Zerrikanian spices in his saddlebags that would surely be a worthy gift. As dusk approached, he climbed down the siege engine. His horse, Greg, grazed patiently nearby. The big gelding wasn't the fastest in a race, but he'd try to carry anything Vesemir put on him or tied behind him, and Greg's natural ambling gait was so smooth that he could ride all day and not be sore. 

He put the saddle on loosely and led Greg toward the hollow. He found a grassy place near the stream and tied Greg to a picket line. The little vial of spice was something he was planning to show off with when he got back to Morgraig, but this was too exciting to pass up.

Without his armor or swords, only a dagger on his belt, Vesemir strolled toward the hollow Grauti had pointed out. There were signs of a large bipedal creature traversing the area. Tracks. The lingering scent of juniper when none grew in the area. He didn't hear her yet.

"Grauti?"

The night insects fell silent in front of him. He strained his ears but still didn't hear her.

"It's Vesemir. The pretty mutant who made them dig elsewhere. I have something for you. A-a thanks for your help with the ghouls."

She landed in front of him with a thump.

He didn't startle. He was a hardened monster hunter. That jump was strategic repositioning.

"Presssent for Grauti?"

Vesemir cleared his throat. "Yes." He held out the vial. "Spices from Zerrikania."

He was amazed again at how delicately her fingers could move while tipped with the monstrous claws. She uncorked the bottle and sniffed. She pressed her smallest finger to the spice, and a small, human-like tongue darted out to taste. She smiled—disconcerting with those rows of protruding teeth—and said, "Good. Good pressssent. Grauti acccceptsss."

Vesemir took a step closer. "The thing you paralyzed me with. That's not your tongue?"

"Weapon."

He got even closer, fascinated now. "A weapon inside your mouth? And you choose whether it paralyzes or not."

"Why doesssss pretty mutant assssk?"

He patted his chest. "Vesemir. I'm a witcher. Mages created my brothers and me. Did they make you as well?" He was almost close enough to touch her now. Without the influence of Cat, he saw her coloration for what it was. Her skin was grey, like clay. Her eyes almost solidly black, and her hair greenish, like moss. Spines lifted from her back as she regarded him.

Vesemir gulped but held his position. He hadn't noticed the spines when watching her dispatch the ghoul. They didn't _have_ to mean she was about to kill him. 

She stretched the hand not holding the spices out and stroked the side of his face again. "Witcher Vesssemir. Grauti likessss. Come."

She whirled around, reminding Vesemir how deadly fast she was, but she ambled as if to make sure he kept up. "Not made by mage. Not mutant. Asssss should be."

"Really? What are you?"

"Gàirnealair."

Vesemir turned the word over, it didn't quite fit the patterns of the Elder he knew, but he only knew the most common variety. He'd ask Sastelm over the winter. The mage apprentice wasn't as condescending as other mages Vesemir'd met. "How long have you been here?"

"Long time. Before elvessss."

A relic creature older than the conjunctions? "Are there more of your kind in the world?"

"Many. Mossst not interesssted in talk. Ssssome eat morssssels like you."

"Duly noted."

She laughed, a whispery huffing of air. The ground rose on either side of them. The steep walls narrowed in a V, and Grauti pushed aside vines revealing a tunnel at the apex. It pressed in close, barely wide enough for Vesemir to walk without scraping his shoulders. He couldn't defend himself in this tunnel. If something approached from behind, he'd be unable to dodge, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Ahead of him, Grauti's spines remained erect, bobbing as she moved. There were six of them running in a line down her spine. Not rigid enough to puncture an assailant, and now that they were fully raised, their color had darkened from grey to nearly black. 

After several body lengths, the tunnel widened, opening into a large room. Artificially circular. Lit by a ball of mage light hanging from the ceiling. Niches cut into the walls had once held bodies. Halfling by the size of them. Now they held herbs, bottles, all the effects of daily life. The pottery and carvings were crude but recognizable. 

A cooking pit stood in the middle of the room, and a pulley system, likely stolen from the nearby village, ran up to the top of the high conical roof. The end of the mechanism was lost in shadows, but soot on the highest parts of the cone that Vesemir could make out made him suspect, it would raise and lower a cap to draw smoke or hide her home. A large nest of juniper boughs, hay, and furs occupied the far wall, near a black rectangle leading deeper into the crypt. 

Grauti placed the Zerrikanian spices on a shelf with many local herbs and picked up two bottles. She squatted near the fire ring and motioned him closer with the bottle. "Mead."

Vesemir knelt beside her as if he was meditating and accepted the offered drink. How should he bring up sex with a creature like Grauti? He didn't even know how her species mated. She pulled a long swig from her bottle, and Vesemir sniffed his before sampling it. The drink was sweet, smoky, and had an aftertaste of the tangy spice of juniper berries. He took a bigger sip, rolling it around his mouth, savoring it. "That is the best mead I've ever tasted!"

Grauti smiled, her many, many teeth exposed very near his throat. "Many yearssss ago, little one taught."

"The little ones who built this place?"

"Yessss."

Halflings hadn't built tombs like this in remembered history. Grauti might be the oldest creature anyone had ever spoken to. "You said some of your kind eat fresh meat. What do you eat?"

"Bonesssss. Old, old bonessss. Sssssoil here is perfect. Tend my garden. Defend mysssself only if musssst."

"The humans are likely to be upset if they catch you in their cemetery."

"Yesssss. War is good _and_ bad for Grauti."

Vesemir was quiet for a while, drinking the mead and thinking over the problem. A mausoleum was planned by the new king for construction in the spring. A caretaker would be appointed from among the villagers. A caretaker that would be the primary person to enter and maintain the cemetery. 

"I think I can broker a deal with the village."

Grauti's eyes narrowed. "Deal?"

"I'll tell them that a powerful entity lives near here. One that a witcher can't hope to defeat, but can be appeased through ignoring the, uh, the garden tending and, say, a yearly gift?"

"No need for gift. Only peacccce."

"Humans need a reminder they are doing something and to feel like they have control. A small yearly gift will keep the peace in their minds longer."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before saying, "Ssssspice."

Vesemir sat his bottle down and slowly reached for her hand. His heart pounded in his ears. He was really doing this. At his first tentative touch, her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him. He rubbed the joints of her wrists—very human-like bone structure—and she leaned toward him, pressed her hand more firmly into his grasp. "How does your species mate, Grauti?"

"Mmm, pretty witcher wantssss to find out?"

"If it won't kill me, yes."

"Won't kill."

"You know how I mate?"

"Ssssmell him. Vessssemir likessss?"

Vesemir gulped. "D-do you have—" he waved at his crotch.

"Lesssss talk, lessss clothes."

He yanked his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. "Yes. Absolutely, yes!" The laces on his hose and codpiece took longer, but he was soon naked and standing in front of Grauti. 

She traced the outline of his pec with the tip of a claw, not breaking the skin. The claw traced lower, along his rib to his back and down his spine. He should be terrified. A single twitch of her finger could slice into his spine. His dick was so hard it bobbed and twitched with her every move. She hummed and swept the claw away from his skin. 

Vesemir repaid the attention, stroking down her neck to her chest and tracing the pendulous breasts. Her skin was warm, and they were as soft as he'd imagined. Watching her reactions, he knelt and brought his mouth to her nipple. She pulled in a breath as he flicked his tongue across it. He took that as encouragement and sucked the entire areola into his mouth. The taste of her skin was the same as her scent, but more. Deeper, richer. He rolled the nipple against the roof of his mouth, kneaded the other breast with his hand.

Grauti hummed louder, and Vesemir switched breasts, laving the other with the same attention. With an explosive crack, the not-a-tongue-it's-a-weapon shot out of her mouth. It whipped around his head, not coming in contact, but so close. It was like a butterfly's proboscis, he decided. That's how he would write it up in his bestiary report. 

It slowed, the movements becoming slower, more cautious. Vesemir flinched at the first touch of the proboscis, half expecting to be paralyzed again. The contact was gentle, as it been on his face during their first encounter. It stroked up and down his back, a heavy, solid thing. One of her hands gripped the back of his head, dragging him forward with her as she walked backward toward the nest. His dick throbbed at being physically ordered, and he crawled after her on his knees, keeping his mouth and hands busy at her breasts. 

She sat on the edge, her feet planted on the floor, and leaned back on one elbow, pulling his head with her. Vesemir dropped one hand to the rim of the nest for balance and rocked forward to follow. The proboscis wrapped around his waist and yanked upward, forcing his ass higher. She pushed his head down between her legs. He wasn't sure what to expect, but by Melitele he wanted to find out! 

A loose apron of skin hid all from view, soft and supple, almost like a loincloth. He lifted the malleable, loose skin to reveal not the sweaty, damaged skin a human would have underneath, but short velvety fur spanning the distance between her pubic bone and a slit that scored the upper bounds of the skin flap all the way horizontally across Grauti's lower abdomen. The rim of it was covered with the soft fur, forming a hem.

He stroked the fur, and she hummed, purred almost. He worked his way up to the opening, curious, and she jerked his hips hard with the palp dragging his knees backward across the floor. 

"Not Grauti'ssss pouch. Down."

"Sorry. Sorry. Whatever you want."

She tugged him closer again, and he turned his attention lower. The earthy scent was even more pungent here, like the scent of fresh-turned earth on a warm spring day just after a light rain. The fur covered the pubic mound, and lower, surrounding an erect, short phallus. The opening in the phallus was considerably larger, enough he could insert his pointer finger if he wished, but he didn't dare try it. It twitched at him, seemingly under her control. Further down, all the parts he expected to see, the lips, vaginal opening, perineum, and anus. The...was it a clitoris? Fuck. He didn't care now. It shifted and found his lips, pressing against them insistently. 

He opened his mouth, and it waved inside. The sensation was strange. He'd sucked a lot of cock, and none of them moved in this way. It was lighter on this tongue and oozing a thick, slippery substance that tasted sweet. He closed his lips around and sucked. Grauti's hips bucked, and she moaned. He bobbed up and down, rolling his tongue over the tip, and the sounds she made grew louder. 

Her proboscis released his waist and trailed over his ass, leaving a lubricated trail in its wake. Appendage. Proboscis—the tip reached his balls and flicked them. He groaned around her, and she pressed his head tighter against her. It flicked again and again until it edged toward real pain. He was squirming and flinching, the grip on the back of his head, the only thing keeping him in place, when it stopped. The tip slid lower, wrapped around his cock, and pumped.

He sagged with relief, the blooming ache in his balls turning to pleasure. The-the tentacle, it was too dextrous to be a-a—fuck that was good. He caressed her inner thigh with his free hand, moving closer with each stroke to her vulva. His fingers brushed across her lips, and the tentacle slowed as if she'd forgotten what she was doing. She was dripping wet, and he slid two fingers inside, exploring. It felt like any other woman he'd felt.

The tentacle released his cock, and he whined in disappointment. 

Grauti petted his side with the back of her hand. "Calm."

He nodded and focused on sucking, licking, working his fingers to find that rhythm that would make her hips stutter against him. The tentacle slid between his cheeks, leaving more lubricant with each pass. He relaxed himself, ready for the first intrusion. The tip of the tentacle moved like no cock he'd ever taken, nor fingers. It spread the slick, coating the way, so fine, like a tendril at the end. It got thicker quickly, pushing into him, deeper than anything he'd ever taken before, and panted open-mouthed as the tentacle began to fuck him. 

It drove in and out, fast and hard as he'd never been fucked in his life, and it took the clitoris-thing slapping him in the face to get his mouth working again. He figured she was giving him a hint with the pace she'd set in him, and he sped up the thrusts of his hand, caught the end of the thing in his mouth, and pushed the tip of his tongue inside. He dropped to his elbow on the side he was supporting his weight with, leaning into her thigh. The change in angle sent sparks of pleasure rolling up his spine with every thrust. 

His orgasm was building, building; he just needed to...he wriggled his hand down, grasped himself, and jerked it roughly. He hoped to the gods she was close because he wasn't going to last— 

Grauti's hips rolled in time with the thrusts of his hand into her body. He sucked and flicked with his tongue. The tentacle—oh gods, he was coming and coming—pulse after pulse! Grauti roared, and thick, sweet liquid shot out filling his mouth. 

They collapsed, both gasping for breath. 

Grauti recovered first. "Pretty witcher pleasssesss Grauti."

The tentacle, still buried deep in his ass moved when she spoke. Vesemir twitched and bit his lip to keep undignified squeaks from escaping his mouth. He nodded desperately against her thigh. "You pleased me, too. Very much. Never been fucked that good in my life."

She gently scraped her claws over his back. The sharp points pressed into his skin but didn't break through. He found her breast with his hand and teased at her nipple. The tentacle slowly slid back. He winced, oversensitive, but his cock twitched, getting half hard. The tentacle slithered forward. In and out, slow and gentle, in complete opposition to the rough, hard fuck of a moment ago. The friction edged on too much, but she kept rubbing his back and moving gently and the feeling of too much changed to pleasure. 

Vesemir followed her cue and nuzzled at her breast, caressed the skin of her stomach. It was a hazy pleasant feeling. No urgent need to come, just being filled and held. The shift from gentle fingers on his back to claws clenching his arms and shoving him onto his back in the nest was so fast his undignified yelp didn't happen until after she'd released him. She straddled him, the way she had the first night. She touched a claw to the side of his face and traced down until the tip pressed against his pulse point. 

"Use your venom on me."

Grauti tilted her head to the side, displaying how the tentacle-tongue fit behind her teeth to allow her to speak. "Witcher wantssss? No move, only feel."

Vesemir shivered at the thought, at how he'd been helpless underneath her the first time he saw her. "Gods yes."

Her throat contracted, almost like watching her swallow sideways. The paralysis spread more slowly than it had before. A function of the location she envenomed him? The creeping loss of voluntary motor functions sent panic jolting through him. He clawed at the furs underneath him, the need to fight, to escape ingrained in him. His fingers went lax, still tangled in the bedding. Grauti gingerly drew his arms up and placed his hands above his head. 

"Pretty Vessssemir likessss danger. Likessss knowing Grauti could kill him." Her talons scraped his belly, curling in until they pricked the skin. 

He shouldn't find it _exciting_. She was an ancient monster with claws and the tentacle tongue weapon thing that not only had him paralyzed but had started moving again, fucking him in earnest and making it hard to think at all. The tips of her talons flexed in and out, tiny increments, no more than pinpricks, but he smelled his own blood. He _shouldn't_ but his cock was so hard it ached, and he wanted nothing more than to beg her to sink down onto it. 

She teased him, lowering onto the head of his cock. Her body was hot around him. Wet, running down him. He wanted to whine, to beg, to plead for more, but he couldn't. The tentacle rammed into him, harder and faster while she held him, just inside her. He wanted more. 

_Please, please, please_ , echoed through his mind, but he had no choice. Finally, finally, she sank down, enveloping him entirely. She rode him fast then, chasing her own pleasure. This being the second round so soon, prevented him from coming immediately. Barely. 

His mind tried to keep cataloging her for the bestiary report. She had a higher body temperature than a human. 

Hot.

Wet. So slick and hot. And the not-a-penis tube slapped him with every downward thrust. The tentacle mirrored her pace. His body was lax, shifting with her movements. He was a ragdoll for her pleasure. Her rhythm jolted and shifted as she went, keeping him on edge. The pressure built in his groin, intense jolts of pleasure ran through him with the tentacle's thrusts, but he couldn't come. He needed a steady pace on his cock.

He wanted to take her hips and set his own pace, bring himself over the cliff. Her movements became more erratic. She ground down on him, rocking and keening as fluid washed over them. He expected her to stop then, but after a few moments of catching her breath, she began riding him again. Her movements were softer this time, more steady. The tentacle moved, insistently, neverending, on the edge of being too much but so good. 

Helpless to do anything but take what she did. He'd asked for this without understanding what it meant. It took the fight out of his hands. It meant accepting without question. There was nothing for him to do, but experience the sensations Grauti willed him to have. 

He relaxed. 

He relaxed for the first time in his memory. 

Grauti worked up and down, in and out and Vesemir floated in the sensations, luxuriated in the helpless relaxation. Pleasure built and built, the feeling of too much in his ass edged into pain and that too built. The pain and pleasure intertwined, blurring together.

She cupped his chin with one hand, and said, "Good Vessssemir. Good for Grauti. Like thisss. Like you." She pressed hard on his prostate, grinding, almost vibrating. 

Vesemir came. Harder than he'd ever come before. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him. Through his entire body. Not stopping when he ran out of come. Pulse after pulse until his mind whited out with the sensation. 

She slid off him, withdrew the tentatongue. He trembled. Every muscle shaking with the intensity of the orgasm and the build-up and the emotion. Grauti stepped over him to leave the nest, and it hurt. Like a thousand beatings breaking over him to see her walk away from him. But then she returned, carrying a wet cloth. She wiped the worst of the fluids away and arranged Vesemir on his side. His mind was still reeling with emotions he hadn't known he was capable of. Emotions he couldn't name because no one had ever told him they existed. 

Grauti snuggled up behind him, his head on her shoulder, his back to her chest. She pulled a soft fur over them and made that rumbling hum she'd done before. Pressed against her like this, he felt it against his back. The soft backs of her hands roamed over him, petting him. 

And he relaxed in the helplessness. 

Vesemir stayed with Grauti through Saovine drinking her mead, _relaxing_ as she did what she would with him. When he appeared in the village a week after he'd left, and wove a tale of the terrifying spirit in the woods that had bested a witcher but was willing to make a deal, and the villagers were eager to take the deal. He won the admiration of his fellow witchers for the best new bestiary entry, with his _greatly_ edited report, and gently steered his fellow witchers away from that region with tales of inhospitable locals. 

Everyone was safe and he was free to spend many, many more Saovines with Grauti. She always had mead for him, and he always had spices.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/miahclone/)for Witcher fic-recs, snippets, occasional prompt fills, and just because I love talking about these awesome characters.  
> If you enjoyed my writing and would like to reblog this story, you can [ do so here!](https://miahclone.tumblr.com/post/632489824087080960/grave-encounters-summary/)
> 
> I love any and all comments, from the smallest emoji to criticism and everything in between!


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